


Scavenger

by Rugsrat



Series: Outpost Nova [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Backstory, Character Death, Gen, Iceland, LARPing, Post-Apocalypse, The apocalypse is not a nice place to live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rugsrat/pseuds/Rugsrat
Summary: Almost a year into The Collapse, Ariane encounters a fellow scavenger from the local Resistance Outpost.





	Scavenger

“For someone so good at finding stuff, you’re shit at watching your six.” 

I didn't argue the point. Not when I had a knife at my kidney. I had no idea she had doubled back on her route. She’d passed by here an hour ago. 

I lifted my hands in the air slowly, to avoid getting the world’s most lopsided bellybutton piercing. 

“You’re quieter than your hair.” I eventually retorted. She snorted a chuckle, and took my crowbar before letting me turn around. Then the wind kicked up. 

We were inside at least, so the ash would only sift through small cracks, but it also meant that it wasn't safe for either of us to leave. Zombies loved wandering in the ash clouds, among other things.

“This just got awkward.” The Reykjavik girl sighed and pulled the knife away from me, but she hung onto my crowbar. “You’re the trader girl, right? The one with the crazy grandma?” 

She hopped on the counter, and I seethed. I decided to take several breaths, and went back to sifting through mostly rotten potatoes for anything viable for planting. 

“Sore spot?” She chirped at me, and swung her legs back and forth from her spot on the counter. Her boots were ridiculous, big heavy black leather with rainbow laces. 

“Very.” I said, and stuffed some spuds in my pack. 

“Yeah, I guess I can see that.” She flipped around to be on the cashier side of the register, and started rifling around through things. I had already taken the whiskey hidden back there. Someone would give me a decent trade for it. No sense in telling her I had it, though. I didn't want anything to devolve to blows. She still had my weapon, after all. 

“Fök, nothing good back here at all,” She sighed, and leaned her chin on her hand, the other toyed with her butterfly knife. “You must have cleaned this place out pretty good.” 

I moved on to the now long-dead refrigerator near the register. The wind howled outside, and I could see the outline of abandoned cars being buffeted by the ash. The cooler had two bottles of water that were still sealed. 

The girl gave me a meaningful look. I tossed one at her. 

“ _Takk_!” She cracked the bottle open and drank deeply. I stuffed mine in my bag.  

“ _Bien sur.”_ I said, and went to check that the back door was still secured.  

“Oh, you’re French?” 

“ _Canadian_.”  

“French Canadian. My bad.” 

I rolled my eyes. This conversation was grinding on my last nerve. 

“Uh huh. Look, we’re probably stuck her for a while, so I’d appreciate it if you were a bit… quieter.” 

“Damn. Ok. _Hvað þú ert mikið rassgat_. I’m Herta.” I wasn’t sure what that phrase meant, exactly, but Amma used to call my dad a _rassgat_ more than his name.  

“Nice to meet you.” Almost reflexive. Thanks mom, for making sure I had manners even in the apocalypse. 

“Do you not have a name?” 

I would have given her anything to make her quiet. How was she able to sneak up on me with that mouth of hers? She kicked her feet up to face me, and I saw that her boots had screws holding the soles on. 

“Ariane Gauthier.” 

“Nice to meet you, Gauthier.” She shook her head. “I like Gauth better. Goes with your attitude.” 

I just about strangled her, but the wind died down, and she made her way to the door. 

“That’s my cue. See you around, Gauth.” 

She left my crowbar behind for me. A show of bizarre kindness. 

Herta was very strange.

* * *

Herta was crazy. 

The next time I saw her, she was out-running a small group of zombies that had caught her scent. Maybe five total. most people, I would imagine, when being chased by zombies, would be either screaming or silent. 

She was laughing. 

I leaned out my second story window, and waved to her, and threw down a rope ladder. She jogged over, and tumbled into the window with great aplomb. Her hair was still a rainbow, but in different places. But still bright enough to be unmistakable. 

She just lay on her back, breathless and giggling for a moment. 

“Thanks, Gauth. I owe you one.” She rolled onto her stomach and off her backpack, and I backed off to let her stand up. She leaned out the window and broke into another fit of laughter, but covered her mouth to make it harder for the zombies to hear. I pulled up the ladder. 

“What the hell is so funny about running for your life?”. 

“Cookie Monster.” She pointed, and sure enough, one of the zombies was wearing a ripped, but still recognizable Cookie Monster set of boxers, with matching slippers. She grabbed a phone, which had a charge, and snapped a picture. 

She had a point, and I laughed for the first time in weeks.

* * *

The last time I encountered Herta, she was digging through a shoe bin. I had the advantage this time, she hadn’t noticed me. I had to admit, when she wasn’t talking incessantly, and in those jeans, I didn’t mind her around. 

“Looking is free.” She said suddenly and shifted her weight slightly so she could look over her shoulder and wink at me. “But no touching.” 

I probably turned the same shade of red as my crowbar. We ended up spending the better part of the afternoon going to the same locations. She pointed me in the direction of some adult diapers for Amma. I pointed her towards a working refrigeration unit that I couldn’t move, but maybe the rest of her people had the equipment for it. 

We parted ways in an electronics shop, after busting a display case to get at a few solar powered phone chargers. I took one for myself, she took the rest, and some fancy gizmos that she swore were thermostats, so they could expand the tunnel systems for Reykjavik. 

“See you around, Gauth.” 

“Likewise, Rainbows.”

* * *

Two weeks later, and I was inside Reykjavik for the first time. My Amma was gone, and I had no other reason to wander around outside. So here I was, in a room with someone I recognized, having seen her on larger supply runs before. The street sign was a dead giveaway. 

But what I really recognized were the boots. Big and black. The laces were different, but I was sure of it the next day when I caught sight of the screws in the bottom. 

And then I remembered Herta. 

“So… Where’s Herta?” 

She seemed surprised by the question, but I also saw the pain there. I knew before I even got the answer. 

“You have her bunk.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of an ongoing series of short works detailing life moments of a LARP character that I play, as a means of getting into her head.


End file.
